


Icarus Falls

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: University, Angst, Betrayal, Crime Scenes, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friendship, Jealousy, Jim Being Creepy, M/M, Manipulation, Potential dubious consent, Sherlock's Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock meets a new friend that doesn’t sit well with John. Is it jealousy or is there more going on? Will John be able to make Sherlock listen before it’s too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jim's Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Jim was sitting at the top of the bleachers, watching the boys playing rugby. No, that was a lie. He was watching the boy that was watching the boys playing rugby. Sherlock Holmes. Ever since he'd arrived at the university, he'd threatened everything that Jim was. And that made Jim feel something so intense -- either hatred or admiration, he hadn't decided just yet. He was going to have to win Sherlock over or take him down -- hard -- but he needed to get close first to decide which one. He moved along the bleachers and down a few. And then a few more. And then he sat beside Sherlock. "So. What brings the clever Sherlock Holmes to a mundane event like this?" he drawled out. 

John was just getting up from a tackle when he glanced at Sherlock, his brows furrowing when he saw someone sitting next to him. Sherlock never talked to anyone else -- and no one really talked to him. John waved, but then had to get back into position. 

"You're watching him too, huh?" 

"Who?" John asked, looking over at Greg.

"Moriarty. I don't know what he's doing here but it can't be good. He gives me the creeps," Lestrade said. Greg was a good friend, and John trusted his judgment. Now that he mentioned it, he remembered having heard that name before. 

"Wonder why he's talking to Sherlock . . ." John said. 

"Your boyfriend's fine -- let's play!" Anderson shouted. John prayed Sherlock hadn't heard that comment. He knew Sherlock didn't really do that sort of thing, and he didn't want Sherlock thinking that John was spreading the wrong idea. 

"Why are you speaking to me?" Sherlock asked, without turning his head.

"Just chatting," Jim said.

"I don't know you," Sherlock said.

"Maybe I'd like to get to know you," Jim answered. Sherlock turned to look at him. "I mean, we've got a lot in common. Maybe we could be friends."  
  
"What have we got in common? I've not seen you in any of my classes."  
  
"Well, get to know me and find out," Jim said. He reached into his pocket and handed Sherlock a folded piece of paper. "My number's on here -- let's get a coffee sometime." He stood up and then he was gone.

Sherlock opened the paper. He stared at the number for a moment. Then he turned over the paper -- it appeared to have been torn out of a book, maybe an A to Zed as there was a map on the back. He crumpled it up and slid it in his pocket, turning his attention back to the field and to John.

Now that everyone was properly beaten up and dirty, they called it a day. Anderson wasn't too happy, being on the losing side, but he couldn't get anyone interested in playing again. They were all too tired. John sat down next to Sherlock, too close so he bumped his arm. "Who was your friend?" John grinned. 

" _You're_ my only friend, John. You know that," Sherlock said, brushing some grass off of John's knee. "Are you done now? Can we go now?"

"Yeah. Was he bothering you? Should I go beat him up?" John asked, teasing as he packed up his bag.

"Who is this person you keep referring to?" Sherlock asked. "Oh wait, do you mean that guy who came over for a few minutes? No, you don't have to beat him up. He claims we have a lot in common, but I don't have any plans to run off with him just yet. If I change my mind, I'll wait until after you finish chemistry so you don't have to worry about your grades suffering as a result." He smiled and stood up, pulling John along. "What now?" he asked as they walked down.

John waved at the rest of the team before leaving with Sherlock. "Excuse me but I am doing just fine in chemistry. Besides, I would hope I'm the first to know if someone is stealing your affections." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'm starved -- can we get dinner?"

"John, you of all people should know that I have very few affections in the first place. I'm not about to go dishing them out to a complete stranger, just because he was smartly dressed," Sherlock said. "I'm not hungry at all but I'm happy to go watch you eat."

"Well, I suppose I'd be worried if you were hungry," John smiled. "Let's go for pizza then since you don't care."

Sherlock crinkled his face but followed John along. "Do you know him then? My 'new friend' that you're so worried about?" he asked as they walked.

"No. Lestrade says he's kind of a creep," John shrugged and looked to Sherlock for his opinion which was always dead on -- more reliable than any other. 

"Well, I don't know him," Sherlock said. He held the door open for John and they went in. John ordered a couple slices of pizza and chips in case Sherlock wanted to snack. When John had finished eating, Sherlock said, "Do you want to do something together tonight or have you got too much studying?  
  
"Hmm. Do I want to be responsible?" John grinned. "I don't. Let's watch a film or something. I can always look over history tomorrow."

"All right," Sherlock said. "Go back to your room first and shower please, because you smell terrible. Bring your history work if you want. I'll get things set up." Once they were back at the hall, they separated. Sherlock made his way to his room, tidying up a little, and then flopping on the bed to wait for John.

"How rude," John grinned, making his way to his own room. He went straight into the shower. Before leaving for Sherlock's he packed some snacks and his homework. He let himself into Sherlock's room and sat on his bed. "Did you pick a film?"

"God, John," Sherlock said, throwing his arms out. "I spent the whole afternoon at your rugby match -- do I have to do everything? I'm exhausted!" He stood up and said in his normal voice, "No, I didn't. Anything you fancy or do you just want me to pick?"

"Excuse me, but I was actually playing rugby so I am waaaay more exhausted than you," John countered. "And you can put on whatever you want because I might study anyways." He leaned over Sherlock to get his backpack, setting it beside him against the wall.

"Don't study tonight," Sherlock said. "I mean . . . I watched you play rugby and now I have to watch you study? It's boring." He started up a documentary about space, which he'd already seen but hoped would be enough to distract John. He slid down the bed a bit and turned his body towards John, curling but not really touching him. 

John glanced over at him and felt a small stab of guilt. He knew Sherlock found most of the things John enjoyed boring but he always did them for John anyways. He could not study; history wasn’t that important to him anyway. "Yeah, all right," he agreed. He tossed his bag off of the bed, settled down a bit, and then rested his head on Sherlock's. John was naturally touchy like this but with Sherlock it was a hit and miss -- he didn't really go for much touching. He waited for a second and he wasn't pushed away so he relaxed. "I'll come to your science fair. Or something," he smiled.

"You don't have to," Sherlock said. "Besides, just in case you hadn't realised, we're not six-year-olds anymore." He could smell John's newly-washed hair. It smelled nice. They watched the film in silence. Sherlock knew it was a bit stupid to insist that John not work -- it's not like the other option had been fascinating conversation. He knew it probably had to do with control and the need for attention, but he didn't feel like analysing it at the moment. When it was over, Sherlock flipped over to the news and said, "See? It's not too late. If you want to study, there's still time. But I'm going to get into bed so if you want to do it here, you'll need to do it quietly."

“No, if I am going to stay then I am going to hang out properly,” John said. Sherlock moved and settled into bed and John actually lay down beside him and listened to the telly.

Eventually, Sherlock moved over and said, "All right. You'd best get going. You have studying to do and I think I'll read until I fall asleep. I'll see you after class tomorrow, yeah?"

John started a bit. He hadn't been sleeping, but he was so relaxed he almost forgot he didn't live here. "Right. I'll see you tomorrow." He climbed over Sherlock again and picked up his bag, hanging it on one shoulder. "See you." He left and went down the hall to his own room, turning his own telly on as he changed into pajamas. He could always study tomorrow. He climbed into bed and flipped through the channels for something to watch.

Sherlock got up when John left. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. The news report caught his attention when he realised the police had found a body in the village where his parents live. He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched. He didn't recognise the victim's name, but he knew the location well. He turned off the news and got out his pajamas. He emptied his pockets and found the crumpled note. He got into bed with his book but before opening it, he uncrumpled the paper to put Jim's number into his phone. That's when he noticed it.

The map on the back of the note was of his parents' village, and there was a circle around the area where that body had been found. He opened his phone.

_Explain. SH_

_Thought you'd like that. -JM_

_What do you want with me? SH_

_Aren't you bored? -JM_

_Frequently. But tricks are also boring. SH  
_

_No tricks. I thought you'd like a good murder. Want to go to the crime scene? -JM_

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what was going on, and that was a feeling he really hated. He did not know Jim at all, but it couldn't be a coincidence that this took place near his parents' house, could it? And what did Jim have to do with it anyway? Surely this was some kind of trick, but why? To impress Sherlock? To mock him? He wanted to know.

_Coffee instead. When and where? SH_

_Cafe just off campus. Noon tomorrow. -JM_

_Fine. SH_

Sherlock set his alarm and then slid the phone onto the bedside cabinet. He rolled over in bed and wondered who Jim was and what he really wanted from Sherlock.


	2. Sherlock's Acceptance

In the morning John went off to class alone, knowing Sherlock's didn't start until later in the day. He sent a quick text before the lecture started.

_After class, will you study with me? I've got a chemistry test coming up and I just want to go over some things. -JW_

Sherlock was already up and trying to do some research. Despite the fact that the crime in his parents' village had just occurred the night before, he was able to find out more about it than he could about Jim Moriarty. Which was very frustrating. He picked up his phone.

_Sure. Come by around three? SH_

He got his coat and headed out to the cafe. Jim was already there, running his finger along the lip of his cup as he waited. Sherlock watched him at the window for a moment and then went in to sit down. "So what trick do you have for me today?" he asked.

Jim smiled.

John got out of class early, but he agreed for three with Sherlock so, to pass the time, he stopped by the canteen and picked up some tea and biscuits. He headed over and kicked at the door, smiling when Sherlock opened it. "I brought treats," he smiled.

"Oh yeah," he said, glancing at the clock. "Sorry. Thanks." He closed his laptop quickly and sat back in his chair. "All right, let's take a look at your chemistry."

John climbed onto Sherlock's bed and pulled out his book with his notes. "It's just a couple things," he said.

They worked together for a couple hours. Sherlock liked helping John with chemistry -- he like showing off what he knew, of course, but more importantly he liked the moments when John finally understood. He liked watching that moment of realisation on John's face.

When they finished John packed his things away again and looked over at him. "Greg invited us to dinner," he said. He wished Sherlock would go with them, but he tried to keep his hope in check. He knew better.

Sherlock knew his answer would disappoint John, and he had a feeling that if John knew he was going to a crime scene with Jim Moriarty, it would make John's disappointment even worse. He didn't understand why that'd be true, but he knew it would be. His friendship with John hadn't always clarified the mysteries of human interactions to Sherlock, but it had at least taught him to recognise some. So for now, he'd just try to minimise John's disappointment as much as possible and hope that'd be enough.

"I think I'll pass," he said. "I'm not hungry." Which was true so he could not be accused of telling a lie.

"Okay. I could come by after? Maybe we can watch another film," John asked, slowly heading for the door.

"Text me when you get back, yeah?" Sherlock said. He watched John leave and then lay down to rest. There was a chance he'd be out late -- the trip back home usually took at least an hour -- and he wanted to have his wits about him: partly to examine the crime scene and partly to protect himself against Jim. He still didn't feel totally comfortable with him, but even if the whole map thing was just a trick, it was pretty intriguing. Everything about Jim was pretty intriguing. He heard his phone vibrate.

_Ready? JM_

_Yes. SH_

_Prepared? JM_

_Yes. SH_

_Curious? JM_

Sherlock sighed audibly. These are the things that made him still not totally trust Jim.

_Where should I meet you? SH_

_Cafe. I've got a car. JM_

Sherlock grabbed all his notes and left.

John stopped off at his room and dropped his bag off before going down to meet Greg. "No Sherlock?" he asked as they head out.

"No," John shrugged, trying to brush it off as easily as Greg was.

In the car, Jim gave Sherlock instructions, including turning off his phone. Sherlock felt like it was some kind of test. He could happily pass it, though he didn't like the continued games.

John and Greg walked to a restaurant close by and ordered, chatting about classes for a bit before Greg moved on to talking about girls. John wasn't as interested as he usually was about this sort of thing, but he listened patiently. He snuck out his phone under the table.

_Greg's talking about girls again. -JW_

John knew Sherlock found this sort of talk even more pointless than John did, but that was because Sherlock wasn’t interested in anything related to it. Not girls or boys or anything. They usually teased Greg about it, which led to Sherlock teasing John. Now there was no answer.

_Are you working on anything new? Send me pics of your experiment. -JW_

The conversation switched to rugby for a bit. Still nothing from Sherlock. Had he fallen asleep? How busy was he? Greg started glancing at John’s phone so he put it away until they were done eating. He didn’t want to be rude but he always had a hard time not interacting with Sherlock -- Greg made fun of him all the time about it. He didn’t pull his phone out again until Greg was asking for the bill and John was fishing out his money.

_We're paying now; I'll be over in a few minutes if you still want to watch a film. -JW_

They walked back and John branched off for Sherlock's room, ignoring Greg’s comments. He knocked loudly in case Sherlock was sleeping. "Sherlock?"  He turned and left when there was no response.

Sherlock sat in Jim's car, watching the scenery pass. It felt strange to go to his parents' village without visiting them, but Sherlock hadn't wanted to share any more information about himself than was necessary. He also had the feeling that Jim already knew where his parents lived, which felt . . . odd. Sherlock was usually the one who knew the most. But once they'd parked up, Sherlock was grateful for the information Jim did have. He was able to get them right into the crime scene -- despite the fact that it was blocked off and locked -- and had fascinating ideas about what had happened. Or at least what he'd thought had happened.

Sherlock was more relaxed on the drive back, and they spent it talking about the crime. Sherlock felt he not only knew who the guilty party was, but he felt like he actually knew him -- Jim had such insight into the criminal mind. When the car pulled up again at the cafe, Sherlock was grateful he had given Jim a chance.

"So you're still up for the experiment?" Jim said, as Sherlock got out of the car. 

"Yeah, sounds good," Sherlock said.

"I'll text you my address when I get all the supplies sorted," Jim added and then drove off.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and saw all the messages from John. He felt a pang of guilt and ran straight back home.

He went to his room and took off his coat, turned on the radio and spread some books out on the bed. He lay down and then took out his phone.

_Sorry. Must have fallen asleep. Want to come down? SH_

John was just about to text Sherlock again when Sherlock beat him to it. He didn't respond, instead getting up and heading over to his room. He knocked again instead of walking in like he usually did. He realised he was a bit annoyed, but he didn't understand why.

"Hey," Sherlock said, sitting up and piling up the books he had just spread out. "Sorry I missed your texts. I guess I slept through them."  
  
"And you slept through the knocking?" John asked as he walked into the room.

"Um," Sherlock said. "I was out for a bit," he added quickly, getting up and grabbing a DVD. "Should we watch this then?" He hoped they could change the subject quickly. He wasn't sure why -- he hadn't really done anything wrong, had he? -- but he was pretty sure John would be angry. The best way to deal with feelings, he'd always believed, was to just change the subject.

"Oh. You went out alone? You could have come with us -- you didn't have to eat alone," John said. He didn't know what he was feeling now. Sherlock skipping group plans was normal, but only because he stayed home and did experiments or studies. Going out without John . . . _he's allowed to, you know. You don't own him._ John flushed lightly and took his jacket off as he tried to ignore himself.

Now Sherlock was faced with a choice: truth or lie. He and John had always been honest with each other -- in fact, John was literally the only human being with whom Sherlock had ever been completely truthful. He quickly flipped through his mind for words that would be truthful but . . . softer somehow than the out-and-out truth.

"I went out to do some research . . . did you read about that murder that was on the news last night? I just went out to get some info on it. It happened in my parents' village so I was . . . just curious. You know how I am . . ."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to do that? I would have come with you -- I see Greg all the time," John said.  He sat on Sherlock's bed, or rather just leaned on the edge of it, looking over at him. "Did you want to go alone? That's fine too, of course. I just thought . . . I don't know." John shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Did you find out anything cool?" 

"Yeah, I think we sorted it. I wouldn't be surprised if it takes the police a week, but we know how it was done," Sherlock said. And then his brain kicked in. _We_. Before today, when Sherlock used the word we, it had always meant John and Sherlock. "Um, I went with Jim Moriarty . . . I think he knows someone in the village so that's how we were able to look around." His voice grew quieter as he spoke.

John felt his stomach drop and his face burned unpleasantly. "The -- the guy from yesterday?" John asked quietly. He really didn't like that. Greg said he was a jerk and he didn't like the thought of him hanging out with Sherlock. He pretended for a moment that that was the only reason.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "He's all right. Useful . . . that's it." He felt a bit sick to his stomach. He didn't like to make John feel uncomfortable -- and he knew he was -- but he didn't understand why.

Sherlock was able to read people better than anyone John knew but this . . . he still didn't like this. Despite how good Sherlock was at reading people, he got carried away with cases and puzzles. But he didn’t want to get into all of that now -- he didn’t want to fight with Sherlock. _Not now that someone could take your place._ He shook his head and rubbed his temples. "Okay. Well, do you still want to watch a film?"

"Yeah, let's," Sherlock said. He turned on the movie and lay down on his bed. It still didn't feel normal between them, but he hoped it would be soon.

John moved and leaned against the headboard, bringing his knees up so that his elbows rested on them. He wondered what they had done together all night. What if Jim liked things that Sherlock liked -- not just properly liked but actually understood them all? Would Sherlock prefer him over John? No more rugby games or forced social events . . . John glanced over at Sherlock and realised that all the times he had encouraged Sherlock to find friends; it'd secretly made him feel good that he was the only one Sherlock liked. Was that bad? Did it make him a bad person? He shifted down and then slowly lay against Sherlock again like he always did, watching the film.

Once Sherlock felt John against his shoulder, he finally relaxed. It was normal again.

When the film ended, Sherlock glanced up at the clock. "It's past midnight -- want to watch something else or what?" 

John sat up and slowly moved off of the bed. "No, I should go." He looked for his bag out of habit before remembering he didn't bring it. "I'll see you tomorrow." He left quickly -- for some reason, without the movie playing, it felt weird again. It had only been a distraction.

"See you tomorrow," Sherlock called, but John was quickly gone. Sherlock pulled the covers back and crawled into bed, without even getting up to brush his teeth. He lay quietly for a few minutes. Today had been an interesting day. He couldn't help it -- it had been so incredibly exciting going to that crime scene -- the thrill of just _knowing_. He wished John had been there with him, but somehow Sherlock knew that would never happen. Jim and John were never going to be friends. Then he thought to himself, were he and Jim friends now? He wasn't sure. John was his friend; he _knew_ that. But who was Jim and what was their relationship all about? Sherlock didn't know. Yet. But he wanted to do this experiment with Jim, he liked investigating, he liked finding out. He liked the knowing and Jim seemed to like these things, too.

He checked his phone but there was nothing. He thought about texting Jim, but wasn't sure what to say. He thought about texting John, but maybe that would make things ever weirder. So he kept the phone in his hand, slid it under his pillow, and tried to go to sleep.

In his own room, John leaned against the door for a moment before sitting on his bed. He pulled out his phone and opened a message to Greg.

_Sherlock went to a crime scene with_

John paused and shook his head. He erased it and closed out of the messages. Sherlock was allowed to have friends. That was fine. He'd just have to find out a bit more about this Moriarty guy before it got too far. He changed into pajamas and got into bed, making a mental list of the best people to ask about him.


	3. John's Investigation

Sherlock eventually fell asleep and was startled when his alarm went off. He had a day full of classes and, per usual, he didn't feel like going but, per usual, he dragged himself out of bed and got ready. He walked down to John's room and knocked. They walked together each Tuesday, even though John finished his classes earlier than Sherlock did. This morning, things seemed normal. They said goodbye with an agreement to meet for dinner, and Sherlock headed off to his class.

In class John was hardly paying attention -- he as much more interested in finding out more about this Jim Moriarty. He mostly asked boys from his team, not knowing where else to start. The general answer was along the lines of what Greg had told him. Everyone got the creeps around him. One guy even said his roommate got drugs from Moriarty once. He wanted to tell Sherlock but didn't know how to bring it up to him. Maybe if Sherlock brought him up first, John could casually tell him what he'd heard.

At the end of the day John felt that academically he'd wasted it, but at least he'd done something a bit productive. Maybe. When he noticed it was the time Sherlock normally returned from class, he sent a text.

_Where do you want to meet? -JW_

Sherlock was walking back when he felt his phone vibrate. He quickly pulled it out and when he saw it was John's name, he felt guilty. It's not that he hadn't wanted to hear from John, it's just he was surprised he hadn't had a text from Jim.

_My room. I'm exhausted. Order pizza? SH_

_Okay. I'll run out and grab something. Let me know when you're back. -JW_

Sherlock slipped his phone in his pocket. He really was exhausted -- the adrenaline of his adventure last night was gone and after sitting in class all day, he felt he could simply lie down and fall asleep immediately. But he thought it'd be good to hang out with John. He knocked on John's door as he passed, calling out his name, and then headed down to his own. He got out two plates and some water and sat down to wait for John to bring the food.

John picked up the food and headed down to Sherlock's room, using his knee to knock since his hands were full with the box and the bread he'd picked up.

Sherlock pulled the door open and smiled. He helped John with the food and then they sat down on his bed to eat. They talked about their classes.

"When's that chemistry test?" Sherlock asked.

"End of the week," John said. "It's going to be okay, I think. I know the stuff pretty well, thanks to you," he smiled.

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "Maybe we could do something to celebrate or have you got rugby stuff all weekend?"

"Not over the weekend but we have a match tomorrow," he said. "Will you come?"

"Sure," Sherlock said. "I've got a morning class but there's nothing I'd like more than sitting on an uncomfortable bench watching you run around, pushing people over." He smiled so John knew he was teasing. He'd never cared about the sport, of course, but both of them knew he really enjoyed being there for John. "Movie?" he asked, packing up the food and moving it over to the table.

"Yeah," John nodded. He was distracted by the comment Sherlock had made and it reminded him about Jim's similar interests. "Hey, I know rugby isn't really your thing but I do appreciate your coming to watch. I like seeing you there." He felt his cheeks flush lightly, and he busied himself with packing his food away so that Sherlock wouldn't notice.

"I like it, you idiot. I like knowing my wise and caring best friend is also capable of utter brutality," Sherlock said. He turned on the kettle to make them some tea. "What do you want to watch?"

John raised his brows but the comment was appreciated. "There's going to be a live video of a comet landing on the science channel," John said, already moving to find it.

"Excellent," Sherlock said. He lay back on the bed as John fiddled with the computer. He felt a little sleepy, which reassured him since clearly things were back to normal between him and John. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_Your little friend sure is curious about me. -JM  
_

Sherlock sat up and then stood up. "I need the toilet before we start. Can you pour the tea?" He rushed off to the bathroom.

 _What are you talking about? SH_  
  
_John Watson spent his day researching me. Has he nothing better to do with his time? -JM_

Sherlock stared at the message. What was going on? Did John no longer respect Sherlock's judgment? And why was he pretending that everything was all right when clearly he didn't think it was? Sherlock put his phone in his pocket, walked back to the bed and turned off the computer.

"Why don't you trust me?" he asked.

John looked up when Sherlock turned the computer off, his brain not processing that fast enough for a reaction when Sherlock was asking him about trust. "What? I do trust you," he said, brows furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Do you, though? Is that why you just take my word that Jim's okay? Oh that's right -- you don't trust my word which is why you've been asking around about him all day," Sherlock paced around a bit and then stopped. He didn't feel like looking at John, so he pulled his desk chair out and sat down.

"I wasn't . . . we don't know him. I don't trust him," John said, sitting up now. His stomach was starting to hurt a bit, twisting guiltily. "I heard he's into drugs and everyone says he gives them the creeps."

"I do know him . . . well, I'm getting to know him and so far, he's fine. You used to trust my judgments . . . and don't be so prudish, John. Drugs? Okay, Grandpa, let's hate everyone who's ever tried drugs -- what about half your teammates? Do they give you the creeps as well then?" He heard his voice and it was angry and he realised that, despite the fact that they'd had arguments before, he'd never really spoken to John with this voice. "I mean . . . do you have nothing better to do with your time than judge people you don't even know?"

John flushed at the insult and slid off of Sherlock's bed, moving around him to get closer to the door. "I'm just trying to look out for you -- and how do you know I was asking around?" he asked suddenly. They must have been talking. "Is that why you went into the bathroom? Why do you have to hide it from me if you don't feel something about it is wrong?"

"I wasn't hiding -- I was trying to be polite. You're always taking phone calls or texting while we're together and it's rude. You act like I'm nothing, like I don't even matter. . ." Sherlock stopped himself because John didn't act like that at all, but he was on a bit of a roll. "I didn't want to be distracted during the film so I just went into the other room to read a text. Don't try to turn this around and make it about me. You don't need to look out for me, John -- I'm not a baby. You just hate the fact that maybe one second of my life isn't totally devoted to you -- you, Mister Popular Rugby Player -- hate that your freak friend talked to someone besides you . . . you don't want to look out for me, you want to control me." He didn't even mean most of what he was saying; it was like he couldn't stop.

"Don't! Don't you dare say that. You matter. I don't care about anything -- anyone -- more than you." He felt his eyes burning, and he cursed under his breath. "You left with him and didn't even tell me. I didn't-I didn't like that and I just wanted to find out more about him. I'm sorry." He paused here and wiped at his eyes hard, trying to get a hold of himself. "You're not . . . I don't think you're a freak. That's not what I meant . . ." he finished quietly. 

"John!" Sherlock called in a panicky voice. He stood up and moved over to him. "I'm sorry . . . I don't know why I said any of that. Maybe it's because I'm tired . . ." This _feeling_ \-- something he never had before John -- was a strange mix of comfort and discomfort, and it was a bit overwhelming. He pulled John into a small hug. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't want to fight. Let's make up, please. I'm sorry about all of it."

John hugged him back, nodding against his shoulder. "I don't want to fight either." They stood there for a moment. "We can still catch the show if you want," John said as he pulled away. He was embarrassed and hurt and yet he felt like he had to suck it up, like he was on the cusp of losing Sherlock with one wrong move.

"Yeah, let's," Sherlock said, pulling back awkwardly. He moved over to the bed and opened the laptop. He refreshed the page and the live feed came up. He waited for John to sit down and then adjusted the computer so they both could see.

John got onto the bed next to Sherlock but this time he didn't lean over on him. Did Sherlock really believe those things he'd said? It was hard to know for sure. "You're my best friend," he said quietly, getting more comfortable. 

"You're my best friend, too, John," Sherlock said as he slid a little closer to lie like they usually did. "I'm sorry," he added. He could feel his pulse slowing and hoped that they could both just forget the fight.

John noticed Sherlock scooting closer and suddenly it was odd to not sit like they always did. He leaned against Sherlock and turned his focus to the programme.

Now that Sherlock was relaxed, he did start to get really sleepy. After a while, he found his body curling and he slumped his arm over John's stomach. Then he realised what he was doing and pulled back a bit. "I'm sorry but I think I'm ready for bed." He sat up a bit and yawned. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

John glanced at Sherlock when his arm wrapped around him. It was an intimate thing to do and the second it happened he realised that it's subconsciously what he wanted all along, all the times he'd leaned against Sherlock like this. And just as quickly it was not only gone, but he was being kicked out. "Um, yeah," he said as he climbed over Sherlock to get off of the bed, practically sitting in his lap for a second. "See you." He let himself out and hurried to his own room, leaning against the door when he closed it. What a night.

Sherlock got up and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He changed into his pajamas and slid beneath the covers. He turned off the light and immediately fell asleep.

John moved to lie down, stripping down to his pants before setting his alarm. He touched his stomach and then remembered Sherlock's hand there. He wondered what it would feel like draped there if John hadn't been wearing a shirt. He bit his lip as heat flooded through him. No. He couldn't be feeling that -- not for Sherlock. They were friends and Sherlock didn't even feel that sort of thing for anyone. _Except Jim._ "No, he doesn't," John said out loud, punching his pillow before turning onto his belly to try to sleep. 

In the morning, Sherlock woke to his alarm. Since he didn't have classes on Wednesdays, he usually met John for breakfast. He showered and dressed and then walked down to knock on John's door.

"Come in," John called out as he sat down to put his shoes on. "I just have to grab my jacket and I'll be ready to go."

They headed down to the dining hall. It felt normal again, and Sherlock was grateful. He quizzed John on a few chemistry questions but was careful to keep his eye on the time: even though he was tempted to get John to skip class, he didn't want to be too selfish.

"Okay, enough of that now," John grinned. He changed the subject to the comet landing they had watched before he had to go to class. "I'll see you later, okay?" He touched Sherlock's arm as he walked away from the table, tossing his bag over his shoulder and hurrying to his class. He felt nervous about the game later -- excited that Sherlock was coming out even though he came out all the time. For some reason if felt different this time. _Because he touched you?_ No. He had to stop thinking so much about that. He didn't know why it kept popping into his head. _Because he touched you._ John sighed heavily as if trying to expel the thought forcefully, as if it would be so easy.  


	4. Sherlock's First Bad Decision

Sherlock stopped off at the library to pick up a book he'd ordered and sat down to skim it. He felt his phone vibrate.

_Have you eaten yet today? -JM_

Sherlock couldn't help feeling a bit excited to finally hear from Jim, but he didn't understand the relevancy of the question.

_No. Why? SH_

_Come to 16 Shropshire Ave. at noon to find out. -JM_

_What's going on? SH_

_You'll see. -JM_

_I'll be there. SH_

Sherlock looked at his watch. It was almost eleven. He tried to focus on his book, but it was difficult. He wondered what else Jim had found out about the crime or if he knew of another one they could investigate. Finally the clock on the wall made it to 11.45. He left the book on the table and headed to Shropshire Avenue.

After class John walked to the field with Greg. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked as they dropped their bags by the bleachers. 

"I don't know . . . probably got held up," John said. He tried to sound nonchalant about it as he glanced around again. He didn't see Sherlock anywhere. They started the game, but John was properly distracted. He kept losing the ball easily, getting needlessly tackled, and missing his chances to stop the others from scoring. 

"Missing your boyfriend, Watson? Maybe if you spent less time looking for him, your play would be better," Anderson grinned, his team several points ahead now. Lestrade tried to get John focused again but nothing was working and eventually they called it a day. John apologised while looking at the bleachers again. When he got to his bag, he texted Sherlock, hitting the screen harder than he should have. 

_Thanks for coming to the match. -JW_

He stuffed his phone away and headed back to his own dorm, declining the invite to go out with the guys and closing himself up in his room.   

Sherlock's head banged against the window when Jim took a sharp turn as he drove him back to the dorm. His eyes felt fuzzy so he rubbed them with his hand, but then he realised his hand felt fuzzy as well.

"You all right?" Jim said flatly. "Take a deep breath."

Without thinking, Sherlock did precisely as he was told.

"It's good, isn't it? You'll sleep like a baby tonight -- I bet it's been years since you've had a good sleep," Jim said. "I'm jealous but I'm glad I let you smoke it all. Your insights were impressive. I knew you were smart, but you just needed a little . . . help to open up your mind even more. I mean, Sherlock . . . it was brilliant. You were brilliant."

Jim's voice was almost hypnotic, and Sherlock could feel his eyes shutting and his mind closing down. His head nodded and dropped to his chest.

"Hey there now," Jim said, reaching over and pinching Sherlock's thigh until his eyes opened again. "Don't go soft now -- stay with me. We're going to make an excellent team, Sherlock Holmes. As long as you can handle this. Can you?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head a little, waking himself up. "Yeah, I can handle it, sorry," he mumbled, slurring a little. "It's good, I'm fine."  
  
"Good," Jim said. "It's a first time reaction -- don't worry. Next time, the effects will be even better and last even longer. Maybe we could go to another crime scene? It'd be incredible -- you'll solve it in seconds."  
  
"Incredible," Sherlock repeated.

Jim pulled up outside Sherlock's residence hall. Before Sherlock got out, he said, "Look, let's keep this between us, yeah? Not everyone is intelligent enough to understand the powers of the mind. Especially your little friend. Go straight up, get into bed and think of me -- of us solving the next puzzle. Don't speak to anyone. If you feel sick, drink as much water as you can. I'll be in touch soon, yeah?"  
  
Sherlock rubbed his eyes again and looked over at Jim. "Thanks," he said. "For all of it, I mean. It was really . . . incredible." He got out of the car, and Jim drove off without another word.

Sherlock made his way up to his room, doing his best to not look anyone in the eyes, which was relatively easy as few people even acknowledged his presence. He struggled a bit with unlocking his door -- his eyes couldn't focus very well -- but once he was in, he followed Jim's instructions, not even bothering to turn on his light before crawling into bed and thinking about today. Except much of it was blurry in his head.

John was pacing in his room, getting more and more upset for every minute he didn't hear from Sherlock. His text had been very obvious -- angry and demanding of a response. He knew this had to do with Jim. Were they out together now? The thought made him feel worse. Eventually he left his room and stormed down to Sherlock's. He pounded on the door and then let himself in. "Sherlock?" He saw him lying in bed, but something wasn't right. He softened his voice and called his name again. "Sherlock?"

"Jim?" Sherlock mumbled, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes. "John?"

John felt his stomach twist, and his chest actually ached a bit. "Fucking hell, Sherlock." He wanted so much to be angry but he looked . . . he looked like he needed help. "Sherlock? It's John. Are you okay?" He moved close and held his face, looking into his eyes. They were slightly bloodshot and not focusing properly.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, pushing John away. "I'm _incredibly_ fine," he said and then laughed stupidly. "Incredible . . ." His laughing made him cough and he lay back down again.

"You're an idiot," John snapped, moving to get him some water. "Sit up and drink this."

"John," Sherlock said for no apparent reason. He needed to use two hands but he managed to drink the water without spilling too much. He looked up; even though his sight was blurry, he saw John's face. "You're always angry at me," he said, lying down again. "Go away then if you hate me so much."

"I told you he was bad news. Look at you -- you could have been seriously injured," John said. He went to get more water.

"Come back," Sherlock called as John walked away. When he returned, Sherlock drank the second glass of water. "Don't leave me . . . I'll be asleep soon. I'm tired. I feel good except my eyes . . . I'm a little confused, but it's good . . . stay with me, John." He reached out to pull on John's arm as he sank back against the bed.

John stumbled a bit as he tried to stop himself from falling onto Sherlock. "You need to sleep," John said quietly. He wondered if Sherlock would remember any of this in the morning.

"All right, let's sleep," Sherlock said. "Come on, bossy." He struggled to lift his t-shirt over his head. "It's hot . . . my skin itches."  
  
John bit his lip and looked down, only glancing at Sherlock's bare skin for a second. "You need to sleep," he repeated.  
  
"I am," Sherlock said impatiently. "You love controlling me, don't you? I'm asleep just like you said but you're awake so control yourself for once and go to sleep." He pulled John down beside him.

John didn't fight it this time, half caught off guard as he got into the bed with Sherlock. "I'm not controlling . . . I'm just trying to help you," he said quietly. He turned to face him, moving some hair out of his eyes.

Sherlock closed his eyes at John's touch. He moved closer and slid his arms around John. "That feels incredible," he said softly.

John closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Sherlock's chest. His heart was racing. "Oh Sherlock," John sighed, wrapping his own arm around him. "Why did you do this?" he asked softly.

"I was brilliant, John. I was your best friend," Sherlock said. The words seemed to come out of his mouth without having stopped by his logical brain first.

"You are, you're both of those things," John said. He realised he was now rubbing Sherlock's back.

"You're my brilliant best friend," Sherlock said, his voice drifting away. "You're . . . John . . ." he mumbled and then he was asleep.

John curled a bit closer, breathing in his scent. Usually it was good -- clean and tinged with tobacco. Now it was sweaty and his skin was clammy. He stayed a while, until Sherlock's breathing and heart rate were more regular. And then he realised this was too much -- if Sherlock hadn't been on drugs, he would never have allowed this. John moved away slowly, climbing out of the bed. He gazed down at Sherlock for a moment before covering him up. He left him a glass of water and some medicine before slipping out and heading back to his own room.

Once he was alone he allowed himself to acknowledge something he had been ignoring while counting Sherlock’s heart beats. He was hard now, the warmth he felt the other night spreading faster, lower. He bit his lip and hurried into his bed. He thought about Sherlock's bare skin touching his own, the softness and the scent of him filling his every breath -- his usual self, not the high version he’d just seen. He slipped his hand into his pants.

His mind wandered to different scenes -- Sherlock taking off all his clothes, more skin touching, kissing, panting -- and then John was panting and suddenly coming into his hand. He took his pants off and cleaned up quickly before curling up and trying to sleep. Their relationship had been strained already and now John had crossed the line to a place Sherlock wasn’t interested in. He was in trouble now. And Sherlock was in even more trouble. He needed to get Sherlock away from Jim.


	5. Sherlock's Second Bad Decision

Sherlock was dead to the world for hours. When he finally woke up, his mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, which were sore and crusty. He took a deep breath but his chest hurt. There was a glass of water on the table so he drank it -- it felt so good going down that he got up and drank three more immediately. He walked back to bed and noticed the medicine. He couldn't remember getting it out. He couldn't remember much of last night.

But he did remember the day -- going to Jim's, drinking some wine, talking. He'd never had conversations like he had with Jim. He remembered Jim suggesting smoking; Sherlock had offered him a cigarette and Jim had laughed. He remembered Jim preparing the pipe, sitting close to Sherlock as he tried it. He remembered the intense feeling. He remembered feeling more clever; he remembered Jim calling him brilliant. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

When John got up he realised he'd slept in too late and he started out of bed, packing in a rush and hurrying to his class. He was so thrown off that, for a few minutes, he'd forgotten about Sherlock and what he'd done when he got back to his room. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and then anger. He was still mad at Sherlock. He was also worried, but he was going to wait for Sherlock to text him first. He wondered if Sherlock remembered anything from yesterday and he was curious about what precisely Sherlock had done. He hoped whatever it was, it was enough to make Sherlock stop seeing Jim now. 

Sherlock sat up again and took the medicine. He realised he should probably eat -- the last time he remembered eating anything it was just a banana at breakfast with John. Was that yesterday or the day before? Sherlock looked at the clock and wondered why John hadn't come down to wake up him up. He couldn't remember if John had class; he couldn't remember if he did. He looked at his phone to check the calendar. He had a message.

_Good morning, sleepy baby. I hope you had nice dreams. -JM_

Sherlock wasn't sure what it made him feel so he didn't reply, checking his schedule instead. It was Thursday and he'd already missed both of his classes. John was in class right now; Sherlock wondered if he'd made it on time. He wondered if John was mad at him but he couldn't quite remember if they had properly made up after the argument they'd had. He couldn't quite remember what the argument was about. He saw the text from John.

_Thanks for coming to the match. -JW_

Oh. He had let John down. Again. He hated letting John down, but Sherlock was still confused about why this was such a big deal to him. It had to be because of Jim, but why couldn't John see that all Jim was doing was helping Sherlock be even more clever? If John couldn’t really appreciate why Sherlock had gone to the crime scene with Jim, there'd be no way John would appreciate why Sherlock had smoked with Jim. John had never seemed too uptight about drugs, though -- why did he suddenly care? Regardless, Sherlock decided it'd be best not to bother telling him: not lie, of course, but just leave out a relatively significant detail. It's not like Sherlock was going to become addicted; he was too smart for that. But he was pretty sure he'd try it once more; he was sure Jim had said the second time would be better and it would be incredible to go to another crime scene and be able to see things so much more vividly.

_I'm sorry I missed your match. Dinner tonight? SH_

John got the message as he was leaving his class, heading to his last one of the day. He paused in the hall, making several people bump into him and curse at him. He moved to the side and stared at the message. So that was all. Sherlock got high out of his mind and then just woke up and acted like nothing had happened. Even if he didn't remember the cuddling -- the word made John's cheeks burn -- he had to remember being high. 

_Oh, you're hungry today? I suppose it makes sense -- having the munchies is a side effect after all. -JW_

He knew that probably didn’t make sense, that side effect was probably for a different drug altogether, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to have Sherlock thinking that he was just moving on after being so worried the night before. He stuffed the phone into his pocket and headed to his next class, trying to calm down and get his mind to focus again. 

Okay, so John knew about the drugs. Fine. And he was going to be sarcastic to show his disapproval. Fine. But was he really disapproving of the drugs or the person Sherlock did them with? Why, why, why did John care so much? John had lots of friends, and yes, maybe Sherlock teased or pouted occasionally but it's not like he actually actively tried to break up their friendships. Why did John care?

_Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry there's a new difference between us. We've always figured out how to navigate our differences. Can't we do that now? I don't know what else to say. SH_

John stared at the new message and shook his head. Why didn't Sherlock understand where he was coming from? He was always so smart and . . . and . . . John's thoughts trailed off and he looked down again. Sherlock really didn't know because this wasn't his area. He didn't do this sort of thing. Feelings were not his area of expertise and if John didn't flat out tell him he would never know.

_A difference is me liking milk in my tea and you liking to grow mould on it. I just want you to stop lying to me. It hurts. -JW_

Sherlock read the text. He didn't like not telling John everything -- he didn't like having to think about everything he said or did. He just wanted them to be normal again. If John wanted honesty, that's what Sherlock would give him. 

_Can't I be friends with him and with you? Are you really going to make me choose? SH_

John sighed softly. Of all the people Sherlock could have tried to be friends with it had to be this guy. And why should he feel guilty for trying to protect Sherlock? Didn't Sherlock realise that John loved -- John's eyes widened. They were best friends . . . it was normal to feel that way, wasn't it? _Not added to what you did last night._

_You don't have to choose but I'm not going to suddenly like him. I think he's bad news. -JW_

Sherlock stared down at the message. He didn't know what to do. He hated the thought of not being friends with John, but is this how it'd be forever -- John deciding who Sherlock could hang out with?

_Just leave me alone for awhile. I need to figure this out. SH_

Sherlock felt a little like crying as he sent it, but he didn't know what else to do.

John felt his chest tighten and his eyes immediately burned. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of his class, hurrying back to his own room. The tears fell freely now that he was alone and he wondered if he had lost Sherlock forever. He didn't want this -- he just wanted to protect him. What did Jim have that John didn't? An interest in crimes? Drugs? Is that all it took to destroy the friendship John and Sherlock had for so long?

John couldn't even bring himself to answer back. He crawled into bed and tried to work out his thoughts. He knew what he had been feeling. And he also knew he didn't regret those feelings. But he'd been hiding them because if they were hidden, they couldn't hurt. But John hurt now -- too much, too much -- in his chest, his stomach, everywhere. Even if Sherlock never felt the same way about them John was happy to have him as a friend. Now he didn’t have Sherlock at all.

Sherlock held the phone in his hand, willing it to vibrate. Surely John would come to his senses and realise he was being unfair. Would John really end their friendship over this? Sherlock took another drink of water and then lay back, closing his eyes. _Please John_ , he thought. And the phone vibrated.

_Fancy another adventure? Mine to prepare and then a new scene? -JM_

_What scene? SH_

Sherlock got up and opened his laptop, searching for newly discovered crimes. He wanted to read up to get as much info as he could before they headed out.

_Shhh, it's a secret. -JM_

Sherlock sighed.

_When should I come over? SH_

_I'll be there in 10 minutes. -JM_

Sherlock felt a bit panicked as he had barely even got out of bed. He rushed to take a shower and brush his teeth and then quickly got dressed. He grabbed a pen and pad of paper and slipped them into his pocket, before rushing down to find Jim in the car, waiting where he had dropped him off last night.

John cried until he fell asleep, waking up groggy and confused. His eyes felt swollen and he was embarrassed at the state he was in. He took a long, hot shower and then ordered food, having no desire to go out. He pulled out his chemistry and tried to study, but it just reminded him even more of Sherlock. He checked his phone but there was nothing. He read the last message and pushed the phone away from himself. He closed his book as well and put the telly on, trying to get out of his own head.

Jim had been right about the second time, Sherlock thought, even though his eyes did feel fuzzy again. But it was still brilliant. This time the crime scene was undiscovered -- no cops, no tape, nothing. Obviously he had no idea who the killer was -- they didn't even know who the victim was -- but Sherlock was certain he'd known how it was done and could guess possible motives. He was too focused on piecing everything together to stop and think how Jim had known about this. They were back in the car and Sherlock could feel himself grinning stupidly.

"Enjoy?" Jim asked.

"I did," Sherlock said. "Thanks."  
  
"Thank you," Jim said, reaching over and tapping Sherlock's leg. "Excellent team, we are."

"Yeah," Sherlock said, watching Jim's hand move from his thigh to the gearshift. "Are you going to drop me off again? I feel . . . better tonight, I can walk if you want."

"Do you have to go back?" Jim asked. "It's not even midnight."  
  
"Um . . .," Sherlock said. He thought about it -- there really was no reason to go back to the dorm since he and John weren't speaking. "No, I don't need to go back." 

"You could come back to mine. I found this brilliant film we could watch -- it's about this Asian serial killer. Do you know Mandarin?" Jim asked.

"Um, no," Sherlock admitted.

"I'm kidding," Jim said. "I don't know it either. It's got subtitles." He laughed a bit.

"Right, yeah, okay," Sherlock said.

They pulled up outside Jim's flat and he let them in. Sherlock sat down on the sofa while Jim busied himself. He came back, carrying two glasses of wine, which he set on the table. He stood up straight, looked at Sherlock, and then handed him the pipe before turning to set up the film. He sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock and took the pipe from his hand. "I'm in tonight," he said. He lit it and inhaled before letting the smoke surround his face. He handed the pipe to Sherlock, who did the same.

Twice in one day was obviously more than Sherlock's brain could take. Instead of spouting brilliant theories, it announced quite loudly that it was checking out for the rest of the evening. Sherlock could barely keep his eyes open and he hadn't followed anything in the film. He shifted on the sofa, turning a bit on his side.

"Sleep?" Jim asked, tapping his leg.

"Yeah," Sherlock mumbled. The syllable echoed in his skull.

"Want to sleep in my room?"

"No, here's fine." To be fair, Sherlock just wanted silence and sleep.

"Want me to stay with you?"

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock said.

When Jim stood up, Sherlock flopped over a bit. Jim threw him a blanket. "Don't be sick -- shout if you need anything," he said and then disappeared into his room.

Sherlock turned over and faced the back of the sofa. The silence was good and Sherlock's mind felt almost completely empty, which truthfully was kind of pleasant. He felt sleepy and empty and pleasant. And then an image from last night popped into his head -- John lying down next to him on his bed. He liked that memory. He wished John were here now. He slowly pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it.

_Hope chmstry test ok. I miss. SH_

He hit send and left the waking world.

Sometime in the night, it was late but John wasn't sleeping yet, he felt his phone vibrating by his foot. He scrambled through the covers and squinted in the brightness of the phone. He saw Sherlock's name and his heart stopped and then dropped unpleasantly. He felt his eyes burn again, but he refused to keep crying about this. Sherlock had made his decision and there was nothing John could do about it.

_Be safe. -JW_

He set an alarm and plugged the phone in to charge, turning it up in case Sherlock really needed help. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight but he closed his eyes anyways and hoped pretending would be enough.

In the morning there was no reply. John went to take his test and hoped he could muster enough focus to not fail completely.


	6. Sherlock's Third Strike

Sherlock woke up feeling achy and gross. It seemed like early morning, but he looked at his phone and saw that it was early afternoon. He saw the message from John -- why? Why was he nagging him when they weren't even supposed to be talking? He stretched and stood up to find his coat. He slipped it on and moved towards the door, but it was locked. He looked around for the key but found none.

"Weren't you even going to say goodbye?" Jim said, stretching as he stood at his bedroom door. He wasn't wearing anything but his pajama bottoms, and Sherlock found himself looking at his torso -- it was more like his own than John's, whose body was a little thicker with muscle. He had no idea why he was thinking about that now. 

"I didn't want to wake you," Sherlock said.

"I didn't really sleep," Jim said, filling the kettle and turning it on. "I spent the night sitting on the chair watching you."

"What?" Sherlock said. "Why?"

"I didn't, you idiot. I checked on you once just to make sure you hadn't been sick. Did you sleep okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Sherlock said, lifting his hand to the doorknob before remembering the lock.

"Don't go," Jim said a little sternly. "I've got another adventure in mind."  
  
"Yeah?" Sherlock said. He slipped his coat off and draped it over the chair.

"You should eat something first," Jim said. "You've not eaten for a while."  
  
Sherlock frowned. "Yeah, thanks, but I'm completely capable of taking care of myself."  
  
"Are you though?" Jim asked. "Then why do you need that little babysitter following you around, looking after your every need?"

"Fuck off," Sherlock said. He couldn't tell if Jim was joking, but his tone of voice made Sherlock feel strange.

"Sometimes you're not the expert, Sherlock Holmes. You don't know what we're going to do this evening, I do. I know you'll need to eat. So eat." He made a small bowl of porridge and slid it across the table, nodding for Sherlock to sit down. "It's just porridge -- nice and bland, that's what you like, isn't it?"  
  
Sherlock sat down and picked up the spoon.

"I'm going to shower and change. Be finished by the time I get back," Jim said, leaving the room.

Sherlock took a bite of the porridge. It didn't taste nice. He ate a few more bites and then set the spoon back down.

Jim came back out, clean and dressed. "Sherlock," he said like he was scolding him. "You're such a _baby_." He pulled up a chair next to Sherlock and picked up the spoon, eating a bit himself. "See? It's easy. Be like the big boys now and eat up." He scooped more into the spoon and pushed it at Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock shoved his hand away. "Fuck off, Jim," he said, standing up. "I think I'll take off." He moved awkwardly towards the door.

"All right then, let's go," Jim grabbed his keys. "We can stop at yours for a change of clothes and then head out, okay?" He smiled.

Sherlock looked at his face, but it was like his judgment wasn't working quite right -- he could just see flashes of things and they were all contradictory and confusing. "Yeah, all right."

John turned in his exam and left, not feeling confident about it at all. Sherlock hadn't texted back. By now John wasn't too surprised by that, and it made him sad. He made his way back to his room, finished for the day. Maybe he would get lunch with Greg when he finished classes. He needed something to distract himself. As he let himself into his room he saw Sherlock coming out of his room, freshly showered. Jim followed and John thought he was going to be sick. He hurried to get inside before he was seen. Jim caught his eyes and smirked. When he turned back, he touched Sherlock's back a bit too low, leading him down the hall the other way. John slammed his door shut and leaned against it, shaking his head. It took everything in him not to run down the hall and tear Jim away from Sherlock. He had a bad feeling and Sherlock wouldn't listen to him. He sank down on the bed and texted Greg. He needed to do something.

_Lunch? -JW_

_Yeah, come by the forensics lab and we can head out. -GL_

John grabbed his wallet and left, meeting Greg and heading out. "What's going on?"

John swallowed hard and shrugged. "Sherlock's ditched me for Jim."

"What?" Greg asked, actually stopping in his tracks for a moment. "No way." 

"I don't know. They are going to crime scenes and doing . . .stuff . . ." John trailed off, hoping Greg would understand and not press him for more information.

"Not these recent killings? My dad has been talking about them. They're weird -- all thought out like some kind of puzzle or something. Serial killer stuff."

For a second John wondered if Jim was killing people to impress Sherlock, but that seemed too paranoid even for John. At the restaurant he only got tea, unable to actually stomach any food. Greg assured him that Sherlock would come around, but John couldn't believe him. After they finished -- or rather Greg finished -- John declined watching a film. He was awful company and he wanted to just sleep. He thanked Greg and went back to his room. It hadn’t helped as much as he had wanted it to.

Jim drove them out about an hour away and they got out and started walking through a field. "Over here," Jim pointed and they made their way into the middle, stepping over tall plants. Sherlock had smoked in the car -- it was easier each time and more enjoyable. But he was a bit disoriented and felt like he was incapable of walking a straight line. He followed closely behind Jim.

"Here," Jim said. They were in the centre of the field -- there was a small circle where the plants had been smashed down. But Sherlock couldn't see anything, didn't notice any clues. "Come on," Jim said, bending down and then lying flat on his back. Sherlock lay down next to him.

"Close your eyes," Jim said. He was staring straight into the sky. "When you were little, did you ever wish you could fly? If you try hard enough, you can imagine it right now and you'll know precisely how it feels to fly. Do it."  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined. His head felt light and then his body felt light and then he was flying.

"It's a gift," Jim said. "What we have. We're . . . better than everyone else. You know that, you've always known that, you've just got distracted recently. That's why we met, Sherlock. I can help you. I can bring you back to who you should be."  
  
Jim's voice bounced around in Sherlock's empty head. His eyes stayed closed and he felt good.

"You're drooling, you fool," Jim said, smiling as he took out a handkerchief and swiped it across Sherlock's lips. He threw it to the side.

"Sorry," Sherlock tried to say.

"No one in the world knows where we are. There are no houses for miles -- you could scream and no one would hear you," Jim said. He was sitting up on one elbow and looked down at Sherlock. He ran his finger down his nose, over his lips and chin to his neck and then chest, before he pulled back. "Do you feel like screaming, Sherlock?" he said softly.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at Jim. "I feel . . . like being brilliant," he mumbled.

"I'm going to take you home, Sherlock, and we'll have another smoke and then you will be brilliant, all right?" Jim said, smiling. "Come on." He reached out and pulled Sherlock up. He kept a hold of his hand, helping him walk back through to the field to the car.

John woke up and saw it was getting dark. He hated sleeping these odd hours. He was starving now and he fished out some leftovers, eating quietly with the telly on. There was a documentary on, but he wasn't paying attention. He wondered what Sherlock was doing and he wished this heavy feeling in his chest would just go away. He pulled out his phone and looked at the last messages they had exchanged. _I miss._ Miss what, Sherlock? John asked in his head. "I miss you, too," he said quietly, putting the phone down on the bed and tossing his food away before going for another bath. He filled the tub and soaked this time, closing his eyes.

Back at Jim's place, Sherlock sunk onto the sofa. His eyes were tired, and he knew his blinks were lasting too long. Jim sat down on the table in front of Sherlock so their knees were touching.   
  
"Come on, partner, sit yourself up properly," he said, He grabbed Sherlock's hands and pulled, laying them on Jim's thighs. "Remember the first time we met up and you accused me of tricks? I'm going to show you a trick now. Open your mouth and when I squeeze your hand, inhale hard." Jim lit the pipe and took a long drag. He held it in and reached down to grab Sherlock's hand. He leaned in close so his lips were near Sherlock's. He watched Sherlock's eyes which were watching back. He squeezed Sherlock's hand and exhaled sharply. The smoke that didn't go into Sherlock's lungs filled the space between their faces. "Good baby," Jim said and stood up. He grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Let's go watch a film in my room."

Sherlock's head was dizzy as he stood and he followed Jim into his room. He wobbled a bit and Jim pushed him lightly so he fell on to the bed. He tried to get himself sorted, leaning against the headboard. Jim flicked on the television -- the news came up as he sat next to Sherlock. "Let's watch this for a minute." He lit the pipe and had another smoke, before passing it to Sherlock who smoked as well. Jim took the pipe back and set it on the table. "Feel good?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do," Sherlock said because he really did. He looked over at Jim. He smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" Jim asked, smiling himself.

"I don't know," Sherlock said stupidly.

"Well, you needn't stop. It's lovely. Get comfortable," he said, pulling Sherlock down a little and leaning on his shoulder.

Sherlock relaxed against John's touch. Wait. It wasn't John. It was Jim. Sherlock's head was confused. Did it matter who it was? His body was relaxed; he could stay on this bed forever. Still, he wished it was John. He wished John were here. But he wasn't. Sherlock closed his eyes and wished it, wished John here next to him, but when he opened his eyes, it was still Jim.

Jim turned a bit more on his side and lifted his hand to rest his arm across Sherlock's waist. "Did he teach you about this?"  
  
"Who?" Sherlock said. He wanted to add 'about what' but one syllable was all he could seem to get out.

"Your boring babysitter. Of course, he didn't. He's too . . . boring. And what's worse is that he wanted to -- it's obvious he wanted to but he's too boring to try." Jim moved his hand over Sherlock's stomach and then settled on his belt buckle. His fingers curled into the waistband of his trousers. "It's fine. I can teach you this as well. We've done well so far, haven't we, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what Jim was doing or saying. His eyes stared forward at the television. There was too much going on and he couldn't make sense of any of it.

"You like getting to be brilliant at the crime scenes, don't you?" Jim purred.

"Yes," Sherlock mumbled.

"You like getting high, don't you?"

"Yes," he mumbled again. He tried to close his eyes but now he felt like he couldn't even blink.

"You like getting hard, don't you?" Jim moved his hand down to palm Sherlock's cock.

"I --" Sherlock couldn't make any other words. He could smell the smoke in the room. He could feel Jim's hand. He could hear John's voice: "I don't trust him." And he could see the television, the long shot of the field where he and Jim had been a few hours ago. "What the fuck?" he said, suddenly clear. He pushed Jim off of him as the camera panned to an area marked off with crime scene tape. "What the fuck?" he said again standing up. He turned and rushed out of the room, grabbing his coat and moving to the door. It was locked.

He turned. Jim was standing before him. "You fucking _baby_ ," he said viciously. "You're so afraid. Of what you are. What you want. I've not let you down, Sherlock. Let me help you." He stepped forward a little and slid a hand to Sherlock's hip.

"Let me out," Sherlock said. 

"Where is brilliant Sherlock?" Jim said, laughing a little. "I want to hear from him -- the one who sees everything, figures everything out. The one who can fly." He looked up at Sherlock's face. "Does he want to leave? Does he want to make that mistake?" He leaned forward and breathed against Sherlock's neck.

"Let me out," Sherlock said again.

Jim stepped back. "Regrets . . . you'll have a few," he sang and unlocked the door.

Sherlock rushed through and ran all the way back to his room. He didn't turn on the light. He didn't take off his coat. He sat down on his bed and pulled out his phone.

_I've made a mistake. John, I need you. SH_


	7. Sherlock's Confession

John eventually made his way out of the tub -- the water was freezing by the time he did. He put his pajamas on and climbed into bed. The light on his phone was blinking. He pulled it close and then sat up suddenly.

_Are you hurt? Where are you? -JW_

_In my room. Please come down. I'm so sorry. SH_

John hurried out of bed, put his phone into his pajama pocket and went straight to Sherlock's room without answering. "Sherlock?" He asked as he let himself in like always.

"Lock the door," Sherlock said. He was curled into a ball, rocking on the bed. "I was wrong. You were right."

John's heart hurt worse now than before, even when Sherlock had told him to go away. "Tell me what happened," he asked gently, bringing Sherlock some water and sitting beside him.

"I'm high," he said as a warning. "I'm sorry . . . I liked it."

John closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, petting Sherlock's hair now. "Are you hurt?" 

"Not really. I was just . . . wrong," Sherlock answered, knowing John would never understand how bad that fact hurt him. 

John continued to pet his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to be," he said quietly. 

"Yes, you did," Sherlock said softly. "I'm so ashamed . . ."

"I didn't," John insisted, wishing he would understand. "I wanted you to be safe and . . . and happy. I wanted to be wrong." 

"Will you lie down with me?" Sherlock asked. He didn't look up but turned himself on his side. "Please, John. . ." 

John paused his hand and shifted to lie down beside Sherlock, reaching his hand up to continued stroking his fingers through his hair. "It's going to be okay now." 

Sherlock closed his eyes. The comfort of John's fingers in his hair was almost too good -- how could it feel so good when he didn't deserve John's friendship? "John . . ." he whispered. 

"It's okay," John murmured. "I'm still here." 

"Do you . . . do you love me?"

John gazed at him for a long moment, wondering if he was going to remember any of this in the morning. "Yes," he said quietly. 

"I love you," Sherlock said. "Have you . . . have you ever wanted to kiss me?" 

"Sherlock, why don't you get some sleep, okay? We can talk tomorrow," he murmured. 

Sherlock rolled his head towards the pillow. "I hadn't thought of it before but now I hope we will someday. I want us to kiss." His hand moved slowly on John's back. "It explains everything . . ."

John imagined Sherlock and Jim coming out of his room together and swallowed hard. "Explains what?" he asked softly. 

"Explains why you broke my heart," Sherlock said.

John's eyes burned and he shook his head. "I didn't," he whispered. "You did. You broke my heart." 

"I'm sorry I got everything wrong," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry I didn't know long ago."

"Go to sleep, Sherlock." John shifted and got more comfortable. He could explain why he was here in the morning. 

"Don't leave this time," Sherlock said. "Stay with me."

"I will. I'll stay here tonight," he said. When Sherlock closed his eyes, John kissed his forehead softly. If he didn't remember any of this in the morning . . . well, maybe things could go back to normal at least. He seemed to be finished with Jim and that was half the battle. 

"You kissed me," Sherlock mumbled and then fell asleep.

"Yeah," John agreed quietly. He pet Sherlock's hair softly again and was glad that he was finally asleep. He was up for a lot longer himself, eventually drifting off with his hand stilling in Sherlock's hair. He wasn't sure how long he slept but he was dragged out of sleep by something shaking his leg. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Not shaking. Just a vibration. Since he was lying next to Sherlock he didn't bother checking it right away. He drifted off again for a while longer before his curiosity made him finally check the message. 

_He's been ever so careless, you know. Has he told you what he's been doing? -JM_

John clenched his jaw tightly, glancing at Sherlock.  

_He's done with you. Leave us alone. -JW_

_Irrelevant. Your Sherlock Holmes has left his DNA all over three crimes scenes. And my bed. Would you like to inform the police or should I? -JM  
_

"Fuck," John breathed, sitting up now. He wondered if he told Greg right now if his dad would help. Could he help?

_You'll never get away with that. Just leave us alone. -JW_

_Don't pout just because he chose me. -JM_

_He didn't. -JW_

_He chose me to be honest with. So he's told you everything? Finally stopped lying to you? Good. I'm glad all is well. It's been lovely knowing you both. -JM_

_Honest about what? -JW_

The second it was sent John wished he could take it back. He was sure that Jim was lying, trying to make things worse. He glanced at Sherlock again and waited.

_God, you are boring. Is he not with you? Why ask me when you should be asking him? -JM_

_Fuck off. -JW_

He shoved the phone into his pocket and lay back down, curling close to Sherlock again and closing his eyes.

"Stop!" Sherlock shouted, pushing John away. He sat up and looked over. "Fuck, I'm sorry . . . I think I was dreaming," he muttered. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and reached over the glass of water. 

John started and almost fell off of the bed. He caught himself and moved a bit away, looking at Sherlock nervously. He didn't know what to say, where to start. He waited to see what Sherlock remembered before he said anything.

"Why are you in my room?" Sherlock asked. "I think I know but please tell me . . ." He stayed sitting up but tried to get more comfortable so John would sit back down.

"You came home high and scared," John said. "You asked me to come down . . . nothing happened," he assured him even though he wasn't sure why he added that.

"Did we kiss?"

John shook his head. "Not properly. I kissed your forehead," he admitted softly. He remained still, not sure how this was going to go.

"Do you still love me?"

John met his gaze and blinked quickly. "Yes," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry I didn't know I loved you before, I'm sorry it took . . . all this for me to find out," Sherlock said. He looked over slowly. "But I do love you, John. I do . . . that's what it's been all this time. Love. I didn't recognise it because I've never felt it . . . before you."

John moved closer now. "What happened that made you see?" he asked quietly.

"He did," Sherlock said looking down. "I-he . . . he and I did have a lot in common but . . . it was you that I . . . felt that way about. I didn't . . . want him. I wanted it to be you because you . . . you're my best friend and . . . I love you." He fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "I don't deserve you . . . I was horrible and I did things I know . . . you wouldn't like."

"Please tell me," John whispered. "I'm sorry, but please." He moved closer still and his mind was going to awful scenarios. He moved Sherlock's hair from his forehead softly. "Please," he murmured, praying Sherlock hadn't been physically hurt.

"I liked being high, John, I did," Sherlock said. "Even when it made parts of my brain confused -- the important parts saw everything so clearly . . . and it made me feel so good . . ." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I know now that the things I missed . . . were crucial . . . it's humiliating. . ."

"Did he hurt you?" John asked. He knew about the drugs, he'd seen Sherlock that way. But he was being vague about what Jim did to make him see and Jim's text about the DNA in his bed wasn't helping John's worry.

"No . . ." Sherlock said. "He tried . . ." He thought for a minute -- what had Jim done exactly? "He tried to convince me I wanted to have sex with him . . . but I didn't want to and I got away before anything else happened." Sherlock looked over at John. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm so stupid . . . I didn't want to, I swear . . ."

"It's okay," John said, holding his cheeks. "You're not stupid, okay?" He wanted to make sure Sherlock was feeling better before he introduced another problem. "These things happen but you got away and it's going to be okay now."

"But I'm afraid you won't be my friend anymore . . . you won't love me . . ."

"I do still love you," John said quietly. "I could never stop, Sherlock." He moved himself very close to him, sliding his hands into his hair so he could look up. 

"And what about . . . the sex stuff? I swear nothing happened, John -- we didn't even kiss . . . I wanted it to be you. I still do."

John nodded. "I want to . . . I mean, I want it to be you too," he said. 

Sherlock looked up and John and lifted his face to his and kissed him softly. He moved back and looked down. "I'm sorry . . ." he mumbled, not for the kiss but how it happened and everything that had led to it happening this way.

John pulled him close against his chest and hugged him tightly. "It's okay now," he insisted. After a second he pulled back and leaned down, kissing Sherlock's mouth softly again. 

Sherlock let John kiss him and it felt good. There was no confusion at all. He put his hands to the back of John's head and held him. Then he slipped them down John's back in an awkward hug before pulling back again.

Sherlock squeezed close to John. "Do you think he'll just leave me alone now -- leave us alone?"

John shook his head. "He . . . he texted me," he admitted. "We need to find Greg and talk to his dad, I think."  

"About what?" Sherlock felt his heart drop. "Are you going to turn me in -- I swear, the drugs, John, I swear, I won't anymore, I'll try."

"No, Sherlock, no," John said quickly. "We need to talk to Greg's dad because of the crime scenes -- they're going to think you were involved," he explained. 

"Who? Why?" Sherlock said, properly panicked.

"Sherlock, he took you to crime scenes and . . . and apparently you left DNA there. He was probably careful. When the police go looking it's going to look like you . . . you did it," John said quietly. 

"Fuck," Sherlock said, starting to cry. "God, I'm so stupid . . ."

John hugged him tightly and tried to keep his own grief under control for Sherlock. He had never hated Jim more than that moment -- for the fear he was causing Sherlock by using his own interests against him this way. This very serious way. "We're going to talk to Greg's dad, okay? And you'll tell him who took you there and it'll be okay. I'm going to make sure it’s okay."

"All right," Sherlock said through his sobs. "I trust you." He buried his face in John's shoulder.

"We're going to rest today, okay? And we can go talk to them in the morning," he murmured. 

Sherlock pulled back and wiped his face. "John, I'm so sorry -- for everything, for the stupid things I did, for involving you, for . . . not deserving your friendship." He lay back on the bed again, curling himself up a bit.

"Sherlock, people make mistakes," he said gently. "I don't blame you for anything. I love you, okay? Please . . ." John rested his forehead on Sherlock's back. "Please, Sherlock." 

Sherlock rolled over and looked at John. "Do you really love me? Would you -- even if I hadn't . . . made this mess? You know what love is. Are you sure it's what you feel?"

"I loved you before the mess, Sherlock. And I still love you after the mess. I'm sure," he said. He smiled softly. 

"Do you think we'll be okay? Do you think we can go back to how it was before . . . except now we'll love each other?"

John nodded, not knowing how anything was going to be now. But he knew one thing. "Now we love each other. Do you want to take a bath? It'll help you relax, I think, and then we can just rest. . ."

"I think I'll just take a shower . . . I feel gross," Sherlock said. He turned to look at John. "You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to -- I don't know what you had planned and I feel bad taking your time. But . . . I'd like you to stay. If you have studying, you could do it here if you don't mind. I'd . . . I'd just like to be around you." He slowly stood up and tried to stretch but his body still felt tense.

"I already bombed my chemistry test," John smiled. "I don't have any plans and I would really like to stay . . . to be around you as well," he said. He propped the pillow up and leaned back. "I can wait here for you." 


	8. John's Comfort

Sherlock got out some clean clothes and then changed his mind and just got his pajamas. "I'm sure you did fine on the test," he said, heading to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and then showered and then brushed his teeth again. He looked at himself in the mirror. How could he have been so stupid? He thought about the crime scenes, about what he'd touched, what precisely he'd done -- he knew he probably didn't remember all of it. He always thought he was so smart -- no, he _was_ smart -- but my god, how stupid he'd been. He noticed his cheeks redden; he was literally blushing alone in the bathroom. He took a few deep breaths and came out. He balled up his dirty clothes and threw them away and then he put the kettle on. "No tea?" he said to John, who was lounging on his bed, flicking through a book.

"Sorry, no. I was going to make some when I came in but I thought water would be better," he said, sitting up a bit. "How are you feeling? Better?"

"Yeah, less . . . gross," Sherlock said. "But still humiliated. I can't believe I was stu-," he interrupted himself. "Gullible. I can't believe I fell for the oldest trick in the book." He poured the tea and brought two cups over to the bedside table. He sat down next to John and picked a cup up, holding it close to his face.

"Well, you were tricked," John said. "It happens."

Sherlock looked over at John. "I wasn't tricked," he said. "I . . . fucked up -- don't pretend this wasn't my fault. I fell for his flattery and the desire to feel good. The details might be unique, but I fell for the same things students all over this campus fall for all the time. I thought I was better, smarter, but I was just as stupid."

"But he knew how to trick you -- he used things he knew would work on you. Science, crime scenes, enhanced mental abilities." John looked over at him. "He knew what he was doing and that doesn't make it your fault."

"Stop being sweet," Sherlock said. "Besides it just makes me feel even more stupid -- god, why did I believe anything he said?" He slumped over a little to lean against John. "Thank god you never flatter me; thank god you're mean and cruel." He smiled into his mug to show he was teasing. Despite everything that had happened and the things that were going to happen, it was starting to feel normal with John again.

"Someone has to keep you grounded," he murmured, leaning against Sherlock as well.

"I don't know why you even like me," Sherlock said and he suddenly realised he really didn't. John was so good -- friendly, smart, funny. He turned to look at him. "I want to be better, John."

"You're fine, love. Let's get into bed and stop worrying about this, yeah?" 

"All right," Sherlock said. "I think for a little while I should probably just listen to what you say -- but don't take advantage, all right?" He smiled and scooted back, pulling down the covers and climbing in. It felt good to be in his own bed in his right mind.

"I would never," John said, following him and lying beside him. He turned to face him and smiled softly. "Can I kiss you again?"

"John," Sherlock said. "I'm going to say yes, but . . . I really don't know what I'm doing in this department. And considering the fact that this whole week, I was confident that I did know what I was doing and I fucked up royally, I . . . I just mean, don't get your hopes up." He smiled weakly. He did feel awkward that he was so inexperienced but he also really, really wanted John to kiss him.

"Just relax and do what feels right, okay?" John murmured. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Sherlock's, moving his lips softly against Sherlock's as he held his cheek. 

Sherlock let his eyes close as John's kiss warmed his whole body. It was a mixture of relaxation but also excitement. John's fingers on his skin felt softer than anything he'd ever been touched by. He reached over and just squeezed John's arm. 

John hummed softly, pressing to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's mouth was soft and warm and despite not having kissed anyone before, he was pretty good at it. 

Sherlock slipped his arm around John -- he just wanted to be closer. He just wanted to be held, be taken care of. He never felt like that, but now he did and it was because it was John.

John scooted closer and curled against Sherlock, fitting nicely with him as they continued kissing. 

"John, I . . ." Sherlock kissed him again, a little harder. He parted his lips a little and then nipped a bit at John's bottom lip. He tasted John's tea, he could smell John -- he recognised John's smell from so many times before on this bed, but now it made him feel good in a different way.

"You what?" he murmured, dipping to kiss Sherlock's jaw and neck. He breathed in Sherlock's scent and moaned softly. He loved Sherlock so much.

"I . . . love kissing," Sherlock said, his mouth turning into a smile. "I feel stupid again but I don't feel bad about it this time. Why didn't we do this before?" He kissed John again, a little too hard, pulling back and mumbling sorry before trying it again.

"Because we were stupid," he smiled, kissing Sherlock just as hard as he had before. 

"Are we going to do more than kiss?" Sherlock whispered.

John flushed. "Do you want to?" he murmured, nipping at Sherlock's skin softly. 

"I think so," Sherlock said quietly. "Do you?"

John nodded against his skin. "Let's start slow, okay?" he murmured, kissing his neck again. 

"I've never done any of this . . ." Sherlock mumbled, enjoying John's kiss. "But I want to, John. With you. Please . . ."  
  
"I want to as well, Sherlock." He tugged at Sherlock's pajamas, biting his lip as he freed Sherlock's cock. He moaned softly, wrapping his fingers around him. "Is this okay?" 

"Fuck, John," Sherlock said, gasping a little. "God, yes, it's . . . only you, I only want it to be you." He pressed his mouth against John's neck, sucking the skin softly. He didn't know what he should do, he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing with his hands, so he didn't do anything yet, just memorising the feeling, the closeness, of John touching him like this.

John moaned softly, panting at the feeling of Sherlock's mouth on his neck. "Only you," he murmured, stroking Sherlock a bit faster now. He twisted his hand slowly, gripping a bit harder. He couldn't believe he was touching Sherlock like this. 

"What do I do, John? Should I do it to you?" Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper. He wanted to touch John but his head was just a little muddled. It was like the drugs -- a mix of confusion and the best feeling he thought he'd ever have.

John nodded, rolling his hips out when Sherlock asked. "Yes please, yes," he moaned softly. He was straining against his pants and feeling much too warm. 

Sherlock pulled his head back a bit from John's neck and reached down. He started to undo John's trousers and pull them down. After a minute, he said, "Just help" and when he heard his voice -- so desperate -- he looked up at John and smiled and then laughed a little. "I'm impatient, I guess," he said, his face flushing. "But can you help?"

John chuckled and paused stroking Sherlock to shove his clothes down and out of the way. "It's cute," he smiled. He kicked his clothes onto the floor and then resumed stroking Sherlock.  

"Well, I should too, right?" Sherlock said. He pushed his pajamas the rest of the way down and then slipped off his shirt. He curled into a ball a bit, snuggling against John. "I feel shy now, but don't stop doing what you're doing," he said quietly. After a minute or two, he slid his hand down John's belly and gripped his hardening cock. He started a stroke to mimic John's. "Is this okay?" he mumbled. 

A small, strangled noise escaped John's throat at the touch. "Yes," he moaned, bucking into his hand. It felt so good -- so intimate -- to be doing something like this together. To each other. "Feels so good."   
  
"John," Sherlock huffed. "I just want to get . . . to move." He pressed closer and his hips rocked a bit against John's hand.

"I know . . . next time . . . next time we'll do more," John murmured, struggling to control his breathing now. "M'close, sorry. It's just so good, Sherlock." 

Sherlock closed his eyes and lost himself in what was happening. He kept stroking John and felt both of their breaths speeding up. He heard sounds coming out of his mouth -- it was like he had no control. He sucked hard on John's neck, almost biting. His hips were bucking now and John's were moving and their hands were moving and then he went over the edge and was coming and calling John's name.

"Fuck," John called, watching Sherlock as he came apart like that. It wasn't long before he followed, now squeezing his own eyes shut as he moaned for Sherlock over and over. His movements became jerkier as his orgasm coursed through him. 

Sherlock used his other arm to pull John towards him even though their hands were now trapped and sticky. "John," he said before saying it again. "I . . . love you." He buried his head in John's shoulder.

"I love you too," John murmured, gradually catching his breath now as they lay together. They would be just fine. Everything had to be fine. 

"I don't want this on me," Sherlock mumbled, pulling back a bit and looking down. "Can you reach my shirt? I'm also suddenly exhausted and I don't think I can even get up."

"Oh. Sorry, yeah," John said, leaning over the bed to grab Sherlock's shirt. He wiped them off gently before tossing it again. "Better?"

"Definitely," Sherlock said, snuggling down against John again. "Thank you." He shifted to tangle their legs together. "For everything, I mean."

"Yeah, of course," John murmured. "Go to sleep now," he scolded playfully. 

"You'll stay, yeah?" Sherlock mumbled. "I don't want to wake up without you."

"I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" John kissed his head before closing his eyes.  

Sherlock closed his eyes. There should have been a million things bouncing around his brain, but for once, there was only one thing and it was good. It was the feeling of being close to John like this which was the very definition of comfort. He fell to sleep.


	9. Sherlock's Consequences

John had fallen asleep quickly, his brain and body exhausted from the day's events. He slept more peacefully than he thought he would. When he woke up he smiled wide, looking over at Sherlock. And then he remembered what they had to do and he sighed softly, reaching for his phone. 

_We need to talk to your dad about the crime scenes. -JW_

_Uh, good morning. What? -GL_

_It's a long story but Moriarty has got Sherlock in a lot of trouble. -JW_

_Oh. I'll give him a call and we can meet him for lunch. I want an explanation, by the way. -GL_

_Later. Thank you. -JW_

He put his phone on the desk and gently petted Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock opened his eyes to John's touch. He hummed a little and smiled. "I don't want to see the world today," he mumbled, curling around John. "Just you."

"Soon, love," John said, rubbing his back now. 

Sherlock closed his eyes again. "Can we stay here all day?"

John hesitated. "We have to go talk to the police."  

Sherlock opened his eyes sharply. "What am I going to say?" he buried his head against John's arm.

"The truth. You were hanging out with Jim and he said he wanted to show you something and that's where he took you. We'll say you didn't report it because you were scared," John said. 

"What about the drugs?" Sherlock said.

"You were pressured into trying them once and you didn't like it. That's when you stopped seeing him and contacted the police, okay?"

Sherlock sat up and looked at John. "Look, I know I've been stupid, but I have to say -- that's stupid. What's the point of my going? To explain why my DNA is there? To clear me? If that's the point, then lying is only going to make me look suspicious. I wasn't forced into trying it, it wasn't just once and I did like it. I'm sorry -- but those things are true and it's easy to tell when people are lying. Why go if I'm going to lie?"

"And what do you think will happen when you say that you willingly got high? That you don't remember large chunks of time and that your DNA just happens to be all over the crime scenes?" John sat up properly and looked at Sherlock pleadingly. "We're not lying that much -- if it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have been out looking for drugs. You wouldn't have been walking all over crime scenes and touching everything!"

Sherlock reached out and touched John's arm. "I can't lie. I won't bring up the drugs but I can't lie. They can't arrest me for saying I've used drugs before -- lots of people have used drugs. Just . . . do I look high? I don't feel it. Do I look normal?" 

"Sherlock, drugs like that are illegal," John said. "You don't look high right now, no. What if Jim brings them up when he gets questioned? If you don't do it first, they'll think you lied to them and then things will be worse. We can't let them be surprised by anything involving you."

"I know they're illegal but . . . for fuck's sake, they should be happy I'm giving them Jim. It's not about me. I'll just say intoxicated . . . I don't know, John, fine they can caution me, I don't care if that's on my record. I'm just saying it'll be worse if I out and out lie. I won't say I liked them, I won't say I'd do it again. But I can't say he made me or that it was just once. You just said so yourself -- what if he tells them the truth?"

"I-I know . . . I'm just scared," John said, looking down now and playing with the blanket. "Just don't lie. You're right."

"I know," Sherlock said, stroking John's arm. "I still love you," he said quietly. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go speak to the police. He didn't want to do any of what he knew he had to do.

"I still love you, Sherlock. Always," he said. He leaned forward and kissed his mouth softly. "It's going to be okay." 

"Let's get it over with," Sherlock said, slowly moving to stand up. He headed to the bathroom. "You'll come with me, yeah?"  
  
"Of course I will," John said, getting up as well to get dressed. 

When Sherlock was alone, he thought that he almost hated Jim more for forcing him to have to go do this than for all the other things he'd done. He wondered if Jim really had killed any of those people or if he just knew the people who had. Or maybe he wasn't involved at all and had just tricked Sherlock -- Sherlock hadn't seen the news Saturday morning, maybe Jim had and took a different route to that field just to mess with Sherlock's mind? Regardless he had messed with Sherlock's mind and that would take a while to get used to. When he was ready, he went down to John's room to wait.

John took Sherlock's hand as they left the building and headed for the police station. He continued his mini pep talk, but he knew it was for his benefit more than Sherlock's. When they arrived Greg was waiting outside.  

"Hey," he said, looking between them. He looked at their hands. "So my dad is waiting for you inside. Ready?" 

John looked to Sherlock and nodded. 

Sherlock knocked on the door. DI Lestrade opened it and looked up at Sherlock. "Come in," he said. He glanced over at John, saying hello before shutting the door. He sat down at his desk and said, "My son tells me you might have some information about these murders?"  
  
Sherlock swallowed hard and said, "I think I do."  
  
"You've got a lot to tell me," Greg said, leaning against the wall. 

John sighed. "That prick was taking Sherlock to the crime scenes -- you know how he loves puzzles and stuff. And they were high and I guess . . . I don't know. I guess Jim thought that meant something more because he tried to get more out of Sherlock. You know," he said, glancing over at him. 

"Fuck," Greg sighed. "I knew that guy was trouble."

"Yeah. Well, Sherlock turned him down and left. He came home and we talked." Greg raised his brows. "We talked," John said again. "And then I woke up to Jim texting me. He was talking about the DNA Sherlock left all over the scenes. He tricked Sherlock and now he could be in a lot of trouble, just because he wouldn't sleep with Jim."

"Well, my dad is reasonable so you don't have to worry," Greg said. "Well, the drug thing might be bad but like I said, he's reasonable. If it helps him figure out that mess with the murders, he'll probably let it go."

"I hope so. I'm scared," John said. 

Greg glanced over at him. "And the hand holding?" 

John flushed lightly. "I know you aren't an idiot," he said. 

Greg grinned. "It all makes sense now."

"Shut up," John said, shoving his arm. 

Suddenly, DI Lestrade opened the door and said, "John, I need your phone" and once he had it, he shut the door again. 

A few minutes later, Mycroft walked up, knocked on the door, and went in.

Greg started telling John about all the times his dad had helped people in similar situations, but eventually John didn't want to hear any more. Why was it taking so long? They sat quietly and waited, John getting down on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees.

The door opened. Mycroft came out first, disappearing immediately down the hallway. DI Lestrade and Sherlock came out together. "I'll need to keep both of your phones awhile," he said to John. "And thank you, Sherlock," he added. He motioned for Greg to come in.

"See you later," Greg called and Sherlock and John were left alone.

"Let's go home," Sherlock said.

John hugged him tightly before taking his hand and leading them out. "So what happened?" He asked. A couple officers hurried passed them and got into the car. John hoped they were going after Jim.

"I told them everything," Sherlock said quietly. "Well, I didn't say anything about . . . what he tried . . . you know, or maybe I implied it, I don't know. But I told him everything I remembered and what I'd thought about who had done each crime -- not the person, I mean, I don't know if it was him or not, but how and why and what type of person would have done them. They'll keep our phones for a bit -- in case he tries to contact one of us. It feels weird not having my phone."

John nodded as he listened, lacing their fingers together. "And what happened about the drugs?" he asked softly.

"I told him," Sherlock said. "It's humiliating . . . I didn't-I didn't even know what they were -- god I'm like every single stupid statistic -- but I told him what I did know. He asked if I were a habitual user, and I said this weekend was my first experience and that I had no plans to use again. Neither of which was a lie. Mycroft knows, though, which means trouble with him and possibly my parents, but I didn't lie."

"Okay," John said, squeezing his hand. "It's going to be okay now. The police business is done and you're going to be okay now."

"What do we do now, John? I don't mean this second . . . I mean, what now? Can we go back to how it was before?"

John nodded. "Yes, but still a bit different," he said, lifting their hands. "All of this has made me realise . . . well, I just want you to know that I don't own you and you're allowed to do things without me and make new friends. I only got so . . . extreme because he was not a good person." John was looking down and speaking quietly, hoping Sherlock would understand. 

Sherlock stopped and turned towards John. "I'm so sorry I didn't realise that. I'm sorry I assumed it was just jealousy and control and I didn't stop to think that you are my best friend and I should have trusted you. I'm so sorry, John." He slipped his hand around him and gave him a hug.

John pressed into his arms and breathed him in. "I trust you too, Sherlock. I want you to know that." 

Sherlock pulled back and they continued walking home. "Your room or my room?" he asked. 

John thought about it for a moment. "Mine," he said. 


	10. Their Recovery

Sherlock waited for John to unlock his room and then followed him inside. He flopped down on John's bed. "It feels like forever since we hung out in here even though it's probably not been more than a week," he said, kicking off his shoes.

"I know," John said, toeing his shoes off at the door and climbing onto the bed with him. "Do you feel better now? Relaxed?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sherlock said. "It's all still upsetting when I think of it, but I'm trying not to think of it." He snuggled against John. "It helps being with you."  
  
John nodded, kissing the top of his head. And then his temple and cheek bone.

Sherlock turned John's head and he kissed him, a bit harder than before, a bit more urgently. "John," he said softly.

"Please," John exhaled, kissing Sherlock's mouth hard again, pushing his tongue forward to deepen the kiss -- to taste him and to get lost in Sherlock. 

"John," Sherlock said. "I want-I want . . . more. Show me," he pleaded.

"I want more too," he said, pulling Sherlock onto his lap. He leaned back and started pulling Sherlock's shirt over his head, running his hands over his bare skin. He rubbed his thumbs over Sherlock's nipples before sliding his hands around his back and pulled him close for another kiss. 

"God, John," Sherlock said. "It feels good." He lifted John's shirt over his head and pulled him towards him, pressing their bare chests together as they kissed again.

"You feel so good," John corrected, guiding his hips up so he could tug Sherlock's trousers and pants down. "Help me get these off," he said. 

Sherlock sat back a little and started to undress. "Pull the curtains, please. Then take yours off as well," he said softly.

John got up and pulled the curtains, taking his own clothes off as well. He got back on the bed quickly, feeling shy. 

Sherlock slid against John, wrapping his arms around his back. "I don't know what to do, John. But I want to . . . I want to do everything with you." He kissed his mouth again.

"You do know," John murmured. "You know what to do because you're smart." He kissed Sherlock again, harder and a bit sloppier, pulling their bodies flush together. 

Sherlock pushed into John, lying him down on the bed. He slid on top of John, continuing to kiss him. He was already hard and he tried not to think about the fact that John must be able to feel him. "I just want to touch you, feel you everywhere," Sherlock exhaled. "I just want everything."

"I know, me too," John moaned softly. He pushed up against Sherlock, pressing his own hard cock into his thigh. "I have supplies in the top drawer," he murmured. 

Sherlock assumed he meant condoms. He reached over and opened the drawer and pulled the box out. He handed it to John.

"And lube too," John said, taking a condom out of the box. "You know what to do," he assured Sherlock. "It's going to feel so good." 

"Right," Sherlock said, thinking for a minute and understanding. He reached over for the lube. He poured some into his hand and reached down and started to stroke John. His hand moved more smoothly with the lube, and his whole body started to heat up as he felt John's body react.

John moaned loudly, arching and pushing into his hand. "God, Sherlock please," he moaned. 

Sherlock kissed his neck as he continued to stroke him. "Will you touch me?" he said into John's skin.

"Yes," John said quickly, reaching his hand down and gripping Sherlock like the night before. "Anywhere -- anything you want." He stroked steadily, swiping his thumb over the tip. 

"Do you want me to put it inside you?" Sherlock asked. He knew it sounded stupid, but he didn't even care. This was John who had now really seen just how stupid the clever Sherlock Holmes could be and who still loved him. He kept stroking John, though he was slightly distracted by what John's hand was doing.

John nodded, feeling his cheeks burn. "Yes, Sherlock please." he said. He stroked Sherlock faster, harder, and leaned up to kiss him. 

Sherlock pulled back a bit. "I-I have to put a condom on," he said, struggling a bit to think and move and speak clearly.

"Okay, do you want me to prepare?" he asked, reaching between his legs to touch himself, pressing his finger against his own entrance gently. 

"What?" Sherlock mumbled, glancing up. "No -- I-I can." He poured more lube into his hand and then lay back down, half on and half off John. He slid his hand between John's legs and began to rub before slowly pushing a finger in.

"Oh," John breathed. It was much more intense knowing it was Sherlock's finger instead of his own. He slid his hand over and continued stroking Sherlock. "I love you so much."

Sherlock realised what he was doing, why he was doing it, and regardless of what came next, he quite liked doing this. It was so intimate -- he hadn't ever really thought of this before but it was all making sense now and it was all so sexy and made Sherlock's need feel even more urgent. He used a second finger as he kissed John's mouth and neck.

"I've thought about this -- about you -- before," John admitted, panting softly as he moved with Sherlock's hand. 

"Have you?" Sherlock said. That made him feel even warmer. He was moving his fingers in and out of John -- it didn't feel new anymore, it just felt good. His cock ached. "When . . . when can I?"

John nodded, moaning softly and pulling his legs back a bit more to make it easier.

Sherlock pulled back again a bit, and fiddled with putting on the condom. He lay back down and stroked himself a few times. "I'm afraid I'm not going to last long," he said awkwardly. He moved between John's legs, lining himself up before slowly pushing in. "Oh, god, John, god -- you feel so good," he moaned as he pressed further. "Fuck . . ." His hips began to move, rocking a little deeper.

"Oh, Sherlock, fuck," John moaned, feeling himself stretched and being filled. By Sherlock. His Sherlock. He knew what Sherlock meant -- he was so overwhelmed by the feeling that he almost came right then. "Harder . . . please," he said, reaching down to stroke himself in time with Sherlock's movement. 

"John, I can't --" Sherlock said, his hips began to pump a bit harder. "I can't take it . . . it's too good." This was better than anything -- anything he'd ever felt. It was a new kind of knowing -- knowing John in this way, the closest way. "John, I --" he moaned and then he came, a loud growl coming from deep in his throat.

John shivered at the sound Sherlock made, moaning and throwing his head back as he came. He called out for Sherlock, his eyes rolled back for a moment, and then he was panting as waves coursed through his every nerve. When it was over he sank down and tried to catch his breath, still stroking slowly as the waves faded. 

"John, I . . .I . . ." Sherlock tried to say something but he didn't even know what to say. He dropped his head on the pillow against John and tried to catch his breath.

"Yeah," John agreed softly, closing his eyes as he came down from the high of it all. 

Sherlock shifted slightly, sitting up to take off the condom. Then he lay back down and buried his head in John's shoulder. "Was it okay?" he said, realising he was now unsure of so many things.

"Incredible, Sherlock. So good. Did you like it?" John asked softly, curling towards him.

"I did, John -- obviously," Sherlock said, his face blushing a little. "It didn't last very long -- I'm sorry. It was just . . . really, really good." He smiled a little. 

"I know," John smiled. "Don't be sorry. Next it'll be longer and longer and soon you'll be begging for the end," he teased. 

"Are we going to do it again now?" Sherlock said. "I might be too tired."

"I know I am too tired -- and maybe a bit sore," he admitted. "Tomorrow. Or after we nap," he smiled. 

"Did I hurt you? Did it hurt?" Sherlock said.

"No, not on purpose," John said. "It's normal from the stretch, you know?" 

"Right, of course," Sherlock said. Then suddenly he realised: John had done this before. When? With whom? Sherlock and John had been friends since they'd come to uni -- had he done it with someone since they'd known each other? They never talked about sex or dating or anything like that. There was a sharp pain in Sherlock's heart. Jealousy.

John felt Sherlock’s heart speeding and looked up. "Sorry," he said quietly, kissing his lips softly. “I just mean . . .”

"Shhh, John," Sherlock said, turning on his side. "Whatever happened before -- whatever, including my mistakes, including anything you . . . might have done -- none of it matters. It's just us, this, that matters. Promise?" He squeezed John's hand.

John smiled. "Nothing else matters," he said. "Only us."


End file.
